“Sharing is caring.”
“Hmm?”
“I can see the cogs spinning in your head. What’s going on up there?”
“Oh nothing.” I chewed on my lip and used my forearm to push open one of the large front doors. It was significantly cooler outside than in. “Seriously, it’s nothing to talk about.” And definitely not something I planned on ever speaking to him about.
Finn followed, his hands folded into his pockets as he wove through groups of people clustered on the sidewalk. His hand clasped mine so we didn’t get separated. “Whatever then. You’ll tell me when you’re ready. But moving on. We need to transform you from a baby God who doesn’t even know what she’s capable of into a fully-fledged, kick-ass warrior in a few weeks.” He rocked the corded muscles in his neck back and forth. The black slashes of his brand flexed with the motion. “In case you weren’t following me, that means time is of the essence.”
“Weeks?” I cried. “No one said anything about weeks! I leave Norway in two days. I’m not sticking around to play ‘magic’ or whatever else you want me to do.”
“Funny,” he repeated in the same calm voice that one would use when addressing a wild child. “Actually, all of this was outlined to you yesterday. But that was probably one of those things you quietly phased out in your inner musings.”
I did recall hearing the Kraken mention something about intense and rigorous training, but that had all seemed so completely unreal at the time. We hung a left at one of the corners. The buildings were becoming more sparse, the people less frequent. I wondered where we were going.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Serious as stir fry. Consider me your bestest, best friend for the next, oh,” he tapped a finger to his jaw, light glittered off his lip ring, “rest of your life. Because, baby, we’re sticking together like pollen on bees.” Lovely. I really wasn’t going to get rid of him. “I say ‘rest of your life’ because we literally have centuries of shit to work through, and you don’t know jack. That means I’m going to spend the remainder of my days hanging out with a petulant child.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“We’ve established that already. Stop stalling.”
“You haven’t given me anything to do!”
Something sharp and wicked crossed his face, and I immediately regretted my words. We’d stopped in some small grove of trees, and he gestured at a pond behind him I hadn’t noticed due to the encroaching darkness.
“Pull the water toward you.”
Nope. I didn’t care for that sneer at all.
I snapped my hair up into a tight ponytail using the elastic, orange hair tie I always kept on my wrist, and rolled up the star-stitched sleeve of my jacket. I approached the water like I’d approach a dog frothing at the mouth. Though why anyone would go toward a dog like that was beyond me.
Okay.
No big deal.
I needed the water to come to me.
Stuff people did all the time. Nothing hard about that. I mean, I’d grown fins this afternoon. I could breathe underwater. Pulling a puddle toward me was nothing.
Right?
My fingers pressed lightly on my temples, pushing back at the early stages of a headache forming there, before I reached out toward the water, fingers splayed. Okay. Yesterday I’d felt something burn in my veins. That must be whatever it was I needed to tap into.
I clenched my teeth, enamel grinding, straining for something.
Nothing happened, and I shook my hand.
Burning sensation, feel free to start anytime now.
Anytime would be great.
Still nothing.
“Hey there,” Finn’s voice came from behind me, quiet and neutral. “You look like you’re staring at the executioner’s chair. It ain’t like I’m asking you to do the impossible and walk on water. Dial down the intensity. You’re asking something that has always belonged to you to do what you want it to. It’s nature at her best. Let her in. Listen.”
He was right.
Maybe a new approach.
Maybe I was being too abrasive.
Behind me, Finn sprawled on his back, head propped on the cushion of his arms. His eyes were set on the stars overhead. Some teacher if he couldn’t even see me do the very thing I was supposed to be doing. Also—no way in hell was I saying anything out loud. Just what I needed was him ribbing me for the rest of my life for talking to an inanimate object. Maybe mentally would work. Telepathy was a thing, right? Feeling insane, I shaped words in my head, asking the water to respond.
Nothing.
Ok. Not exactly nothing. The surface of the water rippled in the wind, but that certainly wasn’t anything caused by me. I could feel Finn watching me now, his stubborn stare an itch between my shoulder blades. I shrugged off the pressure. I silently called for the water two or three more times, struggling to feel even a hint of magic, before stomping my foot in frustration.
I huffed and glanced over my shoulder. Finn raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. He also gave no indication he was ready to spout out some additional magnificent wisdom that would solve all my problems. And he was under some insane illusion we could be friends. Friends didn’t let friends flounder.
As if knowing exactly what was going through my mind, the kelpie pinched his finger and thumb together and dragged them across his lips dramatically. Jerk. Double jerk.
I’d show him.
Time for a new tactic.
I collapsed to the ground, my knees folding smoothly into criss-cross-applesauce, and I scooted toward the edge of the pool, aware my sweats would probably have grass stains on them later. I eyed the pond again. Moonlight glinted off its surface, creating a clear, dark mirror. It was nearly impossible to see past the surface, but something told me nothing in there was going to hurt me.
How did I know that?
I struggled to grasp that instinctual thought as I reached out a hand again and beckoned the water toward me.
Still nothing.
Patience had never been a strong suit of mine, and I struggled to keep my temper in check. Ok. I accepted the possibility I was the God of Water. Even a baby God knew how to connect with his or her element. I’d won Olympic medals. I was a straight B+ student. I could do this. I beckoned at the water again, scooting closer to the edge. My knees almost touched the pristine surface.
Nothing.
My mind whirled. I’d been swimming in the stuff for the better part of my life, but I was finding out we were still really only strangers. It knew human Zara. It didn’t know God Zara. I sighed. Thank the stars Finn couldn’t hear my convoluted thoughts right now. Here I was treating a thing like a person. This better work.
Cautiously, as if holding a flame near a pool of gasoline, I pressed my palm to the surface of the water, sucking in a sharp breath as the chill wrapped around my fingers, sucking at the grooves in my skin. It didn’t feel like water. It felt like molten silver, thick and dense and eerily smooth.
Do we know you? The words formed in my head like calligraphy. Words that weren’t mine.
I hesitated. Then responded similarly, writing: Yes. But I want to know you better.
The liquid quivered like jelly under my palm. Hmmmm. A tough read there. I sucked my lips into my mouth and thought for a moment. I pulled out my mental pen again, the writing fluid and beautiful as a dolphin swimming through the ocean. I don’t know what I’m doing. Will you help me?
A tinkling of bells chimed in my head. Laughter. Light peals of fluid laughter. I jerked. My hand pulled back, but the liquid clutched at my fingers refusing to let go, drawing out of the surface like an arm. Ok that was freaky. I was about two seconds away from hyperventilating when…
Forgive us. We mean no harm. We want to help. But first let us in. Open yourself up to the possibilities.
I don’t understand, I thought helplessly.
Open up. Open yourself up. Let us in.
I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, caught in a
mess of her own making.
Another glance over at Finn. He was chugging an orange sports drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sucked the whole thing down. Yeah. This guy really needed some tips when it came to teaching.
Focus.
Open myself up. Easy, right? I pushed deeper into myself, into the blackness inside me I’d always ignored, dismissed as something not worthwhile. Water sluiced over my skin as I fell, spiraling deeper and deeper. The soft whistling of the wind across the water and chirping of bugs grew more distant. It was almost hypnotic. Part of me realized I was sinking into my soul. That blackness was my soul.
And that was wrong.
It shouldn’t be black.
But I couldn’t quite grasp why.
I was caught up in the sensation of sinking. It was almost like falling asleep. Years ago, after weeks of training left me frazzled and exhausted, I’d taught myself to slowly relax my body inch by inch, moving from my feet up until I felt so numb and tranquil I would pass out. This felt like that, only deeper and much darker. I’d never known how suffocatingly dark it was inside myself—just how little light really came in. And I landed, feet sinking into smoke swirling in my mind.
That’s it.
A beam of silver splintered the air in my periphery, the darkest part of my soul. I whipped to look but it was gone. A flash of gold flickered from my right side. Another flash of light I couldn’t quite see. The inky black depths of myself felt less comforting and more threatening.
It’s dark here because you’ve never let us in. You’ve never embraced what you are, what we are, what your magic means to you. The tinkling, glittering voices hummed happily around me, the words scrawling before me like captioning.
And what is my magic supposed to mean to me?
That’s for you to decide.
Yesterday, the Kraken warned me the world was changing. I would see and experience things I’d never known existed. Things I would have to accept or deny. This felt like one of those moments. A beginning of my new life, a start of an endless chain that would define my very being.
Joy, I wrote, amazed when the word flowed gold and vibrant my hand. It hovered in the air for a moment, then faded. I reached out again. I want magic to be good. I want it to be helpful. I want to do what’s right. I want to figure this out. But I don’t know how to embrace it. How to embrace…me.
Can you show me? I asked.
Pools of pink and orange melted into view as I settled inside myself, standing in that smoky substance. In the distance, a white light burned so bright it hurt to look at. But it wasn’t hot. Hues of blues and greens and golds flickered over my head, turning the dormant, dark space into a glittering world of light and color and promise. The warmth wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl. I touched what I was sure would be fabric, surprised to find a wrap of liquid instead.
Water. Me. My soul.
We would be honored, Zara. The laughter faded, the voices now serious. Goosebumps raced across my skin, sending tingles down my spine. We will work together to shape the world. For that you have our promise.
It is done. We spoke as one, joined as one. A God and her magic reunited once more. A seal solidified on my soul; a festering wound finally healed. I’d thought this moment would feel more radical, maybe something similar to being struck by lightning. But instead it felt like slipping into a spa. Warm and delicious and the very thing you needed without knowing it.
We can be electric, too, if you prefer. Don’t ever doubt that. The laughter was back. Jets of water in a rainbow of colors arched over me, the water fizzing and foaming like champagne. Time to send you back to the kelpie. Call for us when you need us.
I blinked as water covered my head, filled my mouth. I started to panic when I realized I was back in the woods staring at the surface of a pool, my fingers fluttering in the chilled water. Liquid dripped from my hair, my skin, my clothes as if I’d been submerged.
Maybe I had been.
“Fascinating.” Finn’s lips were right next to my ear, his breath hot on my neck, but I felt too good to push him away. He really wasn’t that much of a bother.
“Hmm?”
“After three generations of Gods I thought I’d seen it all. But you surprise me.” He tugged me back from the edge of the pond. “Watching your magic accept you like that, how the water coated your skin like a shield, a clear shield. I’ve never seen that before.” He looked out over the pond and the animals rustling in the distance.
I took that moment to relay what had happened, what I’d somehow accomplished, and he listened.
“I’ve never even heard of a God asking their magic to work with them,” he finally said. “Even we fey make it do our bidding.” He absently rubbed at one of his silver bracelets, one that was about an inch wide and covered with runes.
“It seemed to make sense. I don’t know how it works. Who else can show me?”
“Yes. I suppose looking at it like that, it does seem pretty common sense.”
Something else struck me about what he’d said. “Three generations? How old are you?”
He jerked a shoulder in response. “We fey live incredibly long lives. In fact, I’m still a baby in comparison to others like me.”
“Other kelpies?”
“No.”
The playfulness in his face was smothered. I immediately regretted the question. “What did I do differently?”
Finn folded himself gracefully on the ground next to me and trailed his fingertips through the water, idly watching the ripples cast on the smooth surface. I gave him time and laid down on the soft ground. My breathing turned deep and slow, the air crisp on my tongue. I also realized in that moment my impending migraine had faded, leaving my mind cool and clear, not unlike my element.
“Picture a pyramid, will you. At the very top are the Gods. The four elemental Gods. Some may argue there should be more, but it doesn’t matter. Whether there should or shouldn’t be, there aren’t. There are four. Wind, Water, Fire, and Earth. Underneath the Gods are the fey. All of us—and we are plentiful and very adept at hiding. Below us are the priests and priestesses of the Order, then humans, followed by animals, insects, etcetera.
“The Gods are the strongest of all of us. That’s why you’re at the top. Our myths say the first Gods, the original elemental Gods, were immortal. Truly immortal. And they started off peacefully enough. They were fey and somehow became… more. Bigger. Larger than life. They delighted with their talents, the adoration from the fey over which they watched. They guarded the Earth and kept peace and harmony.
“That seems almost too good to be true,” I said. The grass was soft under my palms and tickled the back of my neck.
“It is. They got bored. They demanded entertainment. And the once-peaceful Gods turned into cruel, senseless beings. They bickered constantly, fought amongst themselves, and encouraged war. They grew vengeful, resentful, and jealous. Eventually, they almost caused the end of the world. There was an apocalypse.” Finn wet his lips and glanced at my enraptured expression. “That was right around the time the dinosaurs disappeared.”
Holy stars. My ancestors had caused mass extinction?
And there were fey around back then?
They really weren’t teaching us this stuff in school.
Finn waited until I gathered myself before continuing. “As punishment for nearly destroying the Earth and abusing their powers, the Gods were stripped of their immortality by the very people who worshiped them. It was punishment they accepted because, as the tales go, they felt remorse for their actions. When their immortality was stripped away, they were also cursed with much shorter life-spans.
“That eventually led to the first humans. Because some fey loyal to the Gods denounced their magic, they cast it away from themselves, never to be seen again. Without that magic sustaining their youthful lives, they grew old after several decades and died, joining their original Gods once more in the heavens. One positive for them: when they cast away magic, they someho
w regained a startling ability to breed. Maybe it’s like rabbits, the constant prey in a monster food chain.”
He stood and brushed some dirt off his pants. Reluctantly, I followed his lead and handed over his backpack before shouldering my own. “Then how did the next Gods show up?” I asked.
“As we’d later discover, the Gods never fully vanished because their elemental powers are so unique, so necessary to the way of the world, that without them we would all shrivel. Rather than completely die out, they reincarnate when the world was most at need. Until their eventual, cyclical return, their magic was stored in their favorite pets, the Great Beasts, who were to call upon the Gods in times of need.” Finn’s hand brushed mine as we walked side-by-side. I recognized the many tall, narrow townhouses lining the street. The pool had been in some sort of community park.
“If that’s the case, then why are the fey forced into hiding, like you were?” I asked, trying to puzzle through the story. “Just because the Gods go away doesn’t mean magic disappears.”
He smiled and waved at car that slowed as it passed. “Not necessarily. Without the Gods and their elemental magic, all magic suffers. As time passes, it dwindles and fades into a pale imitation of itself. While we still retain a little magic, we fey can’t use much of it, so we’re cursed to live like our sister humans after all.” I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, but caught myself before I fell. Finn waited for me to steady myself and adjust my bag.
“I’m getting ahead of myself,” he said, “because back then, the fey didn’t know what was going to happen next. They didn’t know where their magic had gone, but they didn’t give up hope that it would return. Some chose to adapt and pretend to be mortal. Others retreated into deep hibernation. A few hundred years later, the Gods rose again.
“Understand this, they weren’t the Original gods brought back from the dead. These were a whole new set of independent Gods. The world had fallen into famine, and they were needed to solve the problem. With the return of the Gods came the return of magic, and the fey were propelled back into their statuses of power. The problem was solved, things were good for a while, and then the Gods died out again.”
Walk on Water Page 7
